


please let me get what I want (lord knows it would be the first time)

by madasthesea



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Avengers 4 speculation, Blood, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Infinity Gauntlet, Injury, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 13:45:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14874872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madasthesea/pseuds/madasthesea
Summary: INFINITY WAR SPOILERSAfter losing Peter to Thanos, Tony will do anything to bring him back. Including wielding the Infinity Gauntlet. It shows him the thing he wants most in the world.





	please let me get what I want (lord knows it would be the first time)

 

They manage to get the gauntlet off Thanos. It falls to the unfamiliar terrain of the alien planet with an anticlimactic thud.

Thanos is bleeding and roaring in anger and pain. He’s batting away attacks from Avengers like they’re gnats. Steve and Thor’s combined strengths are barely holding him back.

Tony is closest to the gauntlet, where he’s leaning against a boulder and trying not to vomit as his concussion makes itself known. His suit is in shambles around him and blood is dripping steadily down onto the soil.

He takes a staggering step forward. His head spins so terribly he almost loses which way is up. He blinks the black vignette away and focuses again on the glove. Thanos lets out a guttural scream and flings Steve across the battlefield. The super-soldier goes down in a heap and doesn’t get back up.

Tony is mere feet away.

“Tony, what are you doing?” Rhodey yells.

Tony’s knees give out and he falls, stretching his hand out. His fingers brush the metal. He crawls another foot, gasping as rocks tear at his wound. Rhodey shouts at him again.

He grabs the gauntlet. He can hear fighting behind him, someone nearby screaming his name.

 _For Peter_.

He shoves his hand in the golden glove.

 

 

He’s at home. At the Compound. The huge windows look out over forests buried under snow drifts. Flurries of flakes fall gently, the multi-colored lights hanging outside illuminating them as they settle along the sills.

Tony takes a few staggering steps forward. He can hear voices and… music? Laughter, certainly, though the sound is almost foreign to his ears. He thinks he might hear Thor’s booming voice. He walks faster.

As he approaches the source of light, and flooding warmth that tickles his chilled skin, he hears an explosion. A scream. Tony whirls in the dark hallway, peering behind him. There’s nothing there. No one. Just ghosts.

He stands for a long moment, his heart pounding. He jumps again when he hears rapid footfalls coming toward him the other direction.

“Daddy!” a little voice cries, and Tony doesn’t even have time to wonder who the child’s talking to when suddenly there’s a kid running up to him and flinging short arms around his legs. Tony stares down at the little girl, her dark hair in twin braids. He’s frozen in shock for a moment before he stiffly kneels down so they’re eye level.

She has Pepper’s eyes.

“Daddy, did you see all the snow? Uncle Rhodey said he’d build a snowman with us tomorrow!” The girl lisps, her wide smile showing a missing front tooth.

Tony brushes shaking fingers against her cheek. She’s solid. Warm. Real. Heedless of Tony’s panic, the toddler climbs into his lap. He holds her without thinking about it.

“Hi, baby,” he breathes. She smiles up at him, and then her attention is pulled away by Pepper appearing.

“Mommy,” the girl chirps, hopping out of his arms and skipping towards her mother. Tony watches her go, reeling. Pepper lifts the girl like it’s second nature, walking towards Tony and kissing him gently.

“What are you doing loitering in the hallway?” Pepper asks. “Come on, nearly everyone’s here.”

She takes his hand with the one not holding on to the kid and pulls him along. He follows, unresisting, until he hears the front door open.  

“Peter!” he hears someone greet. Tony jerks his head up so fast it makes him dizzy. _Peter? But Peter’s…_ He isn’t even aware of moving or the faint sounds of Pepper calling to him. He walks, and when that isn’t fast enough, he runs, skidding into the entryway so fast he nearly crashes into the wall.

Peter’s there. Peter’s there, shedding a thick coat, brushing snow flakes out of his hair. He’s older, old enough that his cheeks have lost any last trace of baby fat, the barest hint of stubble along his jaw. He’s wearing an MIT hoodie, a new one, not Tony’s old sweater that’s falling apart at the seams.

Peter looks up at him, those same dark eyes crinkling as he smiles. “Merry Christmas, Tony,” Peter says, like he wasn’t dead two minutes ago, like he hadn’t died at sixteen in Tony’s arms.

Tony’s body works on autopilot, striding forward on numb legs and hugging Peter like if he holds on tight enough Peter will be real. He’s almost as tall as Tony, now that he’s had time to finish growing.

Whatever Peter look-alike this is responds so instinctually it makes Tony think they’ve done this a hundred times before.

Oh, lord, he can feel Peter’s heart beating. His eyes burn with tears.

“Tony, you’re shaking,” Peter murmurs, tightening his hold. “What’s wrong?” He tries to pull back, but Tony holds on for dear life. If he can’t feel Peter’s pulse anymore, who’s to say he won’t just disappear?

“I love you,” he coughs out, too desperate to be embarrassed. “I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t say it.”

Peter forces Tony away, holding him by the elbows. “What are you talking about? You say it all the time.”

Tony opens his mouth to answer, though he isn’t sure what he could possibly say to explain this, but he hears Rhodes call out to him.

“Tony, where have you disappeared to, man?” He rounds the corner, and Tony is so distracted watching Rhodey walk without leg braces or crutches of any kind that he barely hears the “Pete! Congrats on grad school, kid!”

Peter pulls away from Tony, not noticing his aborted attempt to stop him. “Hey, Uncle Rhodey,” Peter says, letting himself be pulled into another hug, Rhodey ruffling his hair affectionately.

They both turn towards the party. “Come on, Tones, everyone’s wondering about you,” Rhodey says. Tony follows like he’s being pulled on a string, refusing to let Peter out of his sight.

The light hits him first. A wall of soft, buttery light coming from dozens of strings of Christmas lights adorning every inch of available space. No less than three Christmas trees ornament the huge space, but they’re overshadowed by the sheer volume of people milling about.

In his periphery, Tony sees Peter veer off and be wrapped up in an exuberant hug from May, but he doesn’t look over because in front of him is Steve, smiling like Tony’s never seen. And he’s talking to Natasha, and her eyes aren’t flitting across the room and Tony doesn’t see the familiar outline of a gun in the back of her jeans. Thor is there, like Tony had thought, and Clint, his kids chasing each other around the room. Bruce is on the couch to Tony’s left. And more, dozens more. Even the ones that had disappeared with the Snap.

Everyone Tony has ever fought alongside with. Every ally, here and safe and happy.

Tony takes a stumbling step forward. Steve grabs his arm, his worried expression so familiar Tony lets out an hysterical laugh at the sight of it.

“Tony, are you alright?” Steve asks. Natasha touches his sleeve, her eyes concerned.

“Fine,” Tony hiccups, and somehow he believes himself. Everything feels so present, so real. What does it matter that it’s all an illusion?

“Hey, Tony,” he hears, and he whirls, every new surprise making his heartbeat spike in fear. He stops short and blinks.

“ _Harley?”_ He asks, disbelieving. He hasn’t seen Harley in… well, over a year his time. But the last they’d met up Harley hadn’t even been eighteen, and the young man in front of him is easily twenty-four. Tony almost hadn’t recognized him.

“Don’t act so surprised,” Harley laughs while stepping forward and falling into a hug Tony hadn’t realized he was offering. “You’re the one that sent your private plane for Pete and me.”

“You’re at MIT, too?”

Harley snorts, his brows furrowed. “You feeling alright, Tony? I’m getting my PhD there, with Peter. You know that.”

Tony flounders for a minute. “Uh, right. Of course. Senior moment,” he stutters, flashing an unconvincing smile.

“Never thought I’d hear you admit to that,” a voice says from behind him. Tony flinches again, each surprise feeling as violent as a hit on the battlefield.

It’s just Peter, and Tony reminds himself to breathe, to savor the simple fact that Peter’s whole and well in front of him, that his team is around him, that they all are inexplicably healthy and happy. He blinks away flashes of explosions and focuses on watching Peter hug Harley.

“Hey ya, Pete,” Harley says, grinning while he ruffles the younger’s hair. Peter scowls and reaches up to fix his curls. As he does, his sleeve rides up, exposing his bare wrists. Tony feels as if the room screeches to a halt, the air getting suddenly harder to breathe.

Peter sees the blood drain from his face. “Tony? You’re really starting to worry me.”

“You’re not wearing your webshooters,” Tony says, the words feeling damning in his mouth, like this one small inaccuracy will shatter the illusion. Peter always wears his webshooters. But Peter just looks at him oddly, a confused smile tugging up one corner of his mouth.

“Of course not. I haven’t in years.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t need them, Tony,” Peter says, once again looking concerned as he puts a hand on Tony’s arm. “I haven’t been Spider-Man since high school. You know that.”

“You just… you just stopped?” Tony’s legs feel weak, like he’s going to fall over any moment. A sudden stab of agony flashes through Tony’s temples. _Concussion_ , he thinks distantly.

“Well there’s not much point being a vigilante when there’s no crime to stop.”

“ _What?”_ Tony gasps, his head spinning.

Hot white pain shoots down his left arm and Tony reaches for it, gasping. When he looks up, Peter is looking at Tony’s arm with a sort of resigned sorrow.

“That’s the gauntlet,” he says.

“What?” Tony asks again, the room spinning around him. Everyone in the room is watching, looking so concerned, like any second they’re going to rush forward and help him, but no one moves.

“You need to let it go now, Tony,” Peter instructs, eyes serious. Tony knows that ‘it’ means the gauntlet, but he hears ‘us’. He needs to let go of this fantasy, the thought that he could ever be happy. Pepper watches with tears in her eyes, holding their daughter.

“No,” he whimpers.

“Mr. Stark, drop the gauntlet. It’s killing you.”

“Peter,” he pleads, his legs giving out. Peter catches him, lowers him to his knees in a sick echo of his own death. “No, please, _Peter_.” Peter’s watching him, sympathy in his gaze. “You die. You die and I can’t save you.”

“I know,” Peter says. “But it’s ok.”

Ok? How could it possibly be ok? Half the universe is _dead_. Peter is dead. Tony will never be ok again.

“Drop the gauntlet, Mr. Stark.”

Tony clutches at Peter’s shirt. His arm feels like it’s on fire, but he forces his trembling fingers to hold on.  

“I have to save you,” he nearly sobs. He buries his face against Peter’s neck, feels the warmth of him. He looks around the two of them, at everyone he’s ever considered family and knows that he’ll never see this sight again. The one’s that aren’t ash are so traumatized and damaged, they’ll never recover. “I… I have to save everyone.”

Peter hugs him close. “You did, Mr. Stark. Now let go. Please.”

Tony pulls back to look at Peter’s face one more time.

Peter’s eyes are the last thing he sees before his vision blacks out.

 

 

Tony feels before he hears. His head is throbbing, each beat of his heart bringing on a new wave of pain, but it is _nothing_ compared to the agony that his left arm is in. He honestly thinks, in a hazy, offhand sort of way, that he’d rather chew it off than live with the pain any longer.

Someone is holding onto him. Who—

He takes a breath, and the ensuing anguish is enough to scatter any remaining thoughts. He’s tipping over into unconsciousness again, but before the darkness overtakes him completely, he hears a familiar voice.

“Mr. Stark? Can you hear me? Mr. Stark!”

Ecstatic relief washes over him, but he passes out before he can put together why.

 

 

Someone is snoring.

It’s a weird thing to wake up to, especially when Tony is fairly certain he shouldn’t be waking up at all. He should be dead. Right? He’d felt like he was going to die. He remembers feeling every atom screaming out at him, every inch of him being undone. Is that what Peter had felt before…

Someone is snoring, which is even more disconcerting considering Pepper doesn’t snore. Snoring, and moving now, right next to him. He can feel the mattress shifting, gets a bony knee to the thigh.

Thoroughly annoyed at this bizarre afterlife, Tony opens his eyes. He’s in a small, metal room with dim blueish lights illuminating some foreign looking machines. Tony stiffly rolls his head to the side, trying to find the person who was snoring, feeling an almost desperate need to see whoever it is.

Peter Parker is stretched haphazardly in the space between Tony and the edge of mattress, perched so precariously Tony is certain only his spider powers are actually keeping him from falling. He snores again.

Tony is suddenly lightheaded, realizes he isn’t breathing. He inhales only enough oxygen to breathe out a tiny, shaky “ _Peter_.”

Tony isn’t sure if Peter hears him, but the kid’s eyelids flutter open slowly, those familiar brown eyes flicking quickly around him and then up at Tony. Seeing him awake, Peter sits up abruptly, spinning around to face Tony.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark! There aren’t enough beds on the ship so everyone’s sort of sharing and I wasn’t going to leave you anyway but I got really tired and we didn’t—”

“Stop talking,” Tony croaks, staring at Peter like if he blinks the kid will disappear. Peter dutifully snaps his jaw shut. He gives a small, sad smile at whatever expression is on Tony’s face.

“Hi,” Peter says. Tony can’t even manage a disbelieving laugh, just continues to look at Peter, Peter biting his bottom lip, Peter with a film of tears in his eyes, Peter fidgeting under Tony’s gaze.

Tony’s left arm is strapped firmly to his side, so he uses his right hand to reach out and cup the back of Peter’s head and pull him into Tony’s shoulder.

Peter carefully resituates himself next to Tony, lets Tony bury his face in Peter’s curls. Tony’s breaths are shaky, closer to sobs than he wants to admit.

“Are you real?” he whispers, because the Peter in the gauntlet vision had felt just as solid, just as alive, and had disappeared _again_.

“Yeah, Tony. I’m real.”

Tony doesn’t speak again, knows that there isn’t a single word in the English language that would begin to describe the whirlwind of emotion he’s feeling—the relief and fear and grief and overwhelming love are things only a parent could understand, he is sure of that now. He just tangles his fingers in Peter’s hair and holds him against his chest, presses his lips to the crown of Peter’s head, and doesn’t let go. Not even when whatever medication he’s on makes his eyes close against his will, makes his limbs feel heavy and disconnected; he still holds on.

 

 

He wakes up alone. The immediate panicked desolation that sinks into his bones is enough to make him feel like he’s going to throw up. Peter isn’t here. It had been a dream or an aftershock of the vision or _something_. Peter isn’t here. Peter’s still dead. Oh lord, he’s still dead and Tony had failed to keep the one promise that mattered more than any other.

“Tony?” he hears, the fog of his anxiety making the voice sound distant and distorted. He can make out broad shoulders and blond hair through the tunnel vision.

“Steve,” he coughs out, clutching at his chest with his good hand. He can’t tell if he’s having a heart attack or if this is just what it feels like when your heart breaks. “Steve, he’s—it was a dream, I thought—I thought he was here, next to me, I could touch him, but he’s—”

“Tony, calm down,” Steve is ordering over Tony’s frantic babbling, “breathe, everything is fine.”

“No, Peter’s _gone_ , it was—I dreamt he was here,” Tony continues. He is vaguely aware of tears pooling in his eyes, of them dripping down his cheeks; tears he hadn’t shed when he’d held Peter, like his body had known it was a lie.

Steve is pushing at Tony’s shoulder, trying to keep him laying down. He looks back at the doorway and shouts for Gamora. If Tony was more with it he’d see the problem with that sentence, because Gamora being dead was a surprisingly important detail in their fight against Thanos.

A woman with green skin comes hurtling around the door and hurries to Tony’s side. Tony’s still talking, still telling them why nothing could possibly be ok, because despite whatever cruel trick his mind had played on him _Peter is dead_.

Another smaller figure appears in the doorway and Tony’s stammering stops, his brain screeches to a halt. He’s not sure if Steve and Gamora stop too, but it seems to Tony like the whole world freezes in its tracks. Peter is standing at the door. His eyes are wide and his face pale, watching Tony with an expression like pain on his face.

It takes Tony two tries to say Peter’s name, but once he does, the kid springs forward, explanations spilling out of him.

“Tony, I’m sorry, I just left for a minute to get something to eat, I didn’t even think about what you’d think when you woke up, but I’m here now, I’m here, Mr. Stark.”

Now that Peter’s in his view, Tony’s panic vanishes faster than it came, and his thoughts start to make sense again. He’s suddenly embarrassed for his tantrum. Tony swallows and forces a small smile.

“It’s—it’s fine, Pete. I just—anyway, I’m glad you got some food,” Tony says breathlessly. Steve and Gamora quietly slip out of the room as Peter sits on the edge of Tony’s bed and takes his hand.

“You don’t have to do that, Mr. Stark,” Peter says, voice quiet as he looks down at their hands. Tony hangs on his every word, his every breath. “I did the same thing. I thought my dream was real, and when I woke up I thought this was the lie.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony whispers, because it was terrifying and horrible and devastating and he didn’t want Peter to ever experience anything like it.

Peter laughs softly. “Mr. Stark, after what you did for me you never have to apologize for anything ever again.”

There’s a lot of things to address in that statement, and Tony doesn’t want to talk about any of it. Instead, he does what he does best—deflect.

“What do aliens eat, anyway?” Tony asks. Peter blinks at the abrupt change of subject, then laughs.

“Exactly what you think they would,” Peter says, then launches into a description of the fruit that he ate that was apparently phosphorescent blue. Tony listens intently, savoring Peter’s voice.

 

 

It takes over a week for things to even begin to settle down after they arrive back on earth. Everything is still in chaos, but arrangements have been made, immediate disasters taken care of. For the first time in what feels like years Tony has a moment to breathe.

The compound has been bursting at the seams since the battle. The Guardians are recuperating on Earth for a few days, and all the Avengers have left Wakanda. T’Challa is still there, but Shuri and Nakia are in New York participating in talks at the UN. Peter has been staying there, too, with May. Neither Peter nor Tony wanted to admit it, but they were reluctant to be away from each other.

One evening after a day packed with conference calls and interviews and a dozen other things that left Tony exhausted, he wanders over to the living quarters, only to find the living area full with heroes, relaxing and eating together. There’s still trauma and injuries, but the atmosphere seems peaceful, hopeful even. Laughter isn’t as rare as it was a week ago, and people are keeping to themselves less. It’s progress.

People greet Tony as he enters the room. Steve shoves a plate of food in his hands, and Bruce claps him on his shoulder as he passes. Natasha is sitting on the couch with Clint’s youngest child in her lap. Pepper and May are looking conspiratorial as they talk, probably about wedding plans.

It strikes Tony, suddenly, how similar this is to his vision. He’s dreamt of it every night, and always wakes up with an ache of longing in his chest, one that he can never quite banish. It’s an impossible dream. And yet, here are his friends and allies, gathered together. Nothing Tony can do will ever banish the fear, the memories, will  ever heal all the aches and pains they’ve accumulated. He can never bring back those they’ve lost.

But they’re here. And it’s closer to his gauntlet dream than Tony ever thought could happen, especially after that first disastrous battle.

Peter sees Tony and separates himself from Shuri and Wanda, coming over to where he’s leaning against the kitchen island. He tucks himself into Tony’s side without hesitation.

He thinks of his dream. How he’d told Peter he loved him and Peter had assured him that he knew.

Maybe it isn’t as impossible as he’d thought.

He puts his arm around Peter’s shoulder and hugs him close. Peter looks up at him and smiles, the fear that lives behind his eyes farther away than Tony’s seen in a long time.

“I’m glad you’re here, kid,” Tony says.

“Me too,” Peter murmurs. They both watch the people in front of them, their family. May laughs across the room and Peter smiles.

Tony ducks his head and kisses Peter on the temple. “I love you.”

Peter smiles again, nods. “I know.”

It takes Tony half a second to catch it, then he throws his head back and laughs. “Did you just Han me?”

“Would it better if I had Leia’d you?” Peter asks, the cheeky punk.

“No,” Tony assures him, still laughing.

It’s an impossible dream. Tony will work to make it as real as he can.   

**Author's Note:**

> As I was writing this, I thought to myself "Is this too self indulgent?" then I remember I had to watch Peter die in Tony's arms with my own two eyes, so who cares.
> 
> A few of the more subtle differences between Tony's ideal world and the real world:  
> 1\. No one is suffering from PTSD (Steve is smiling, Nat doesn't have a weapon on her at all times)  
> 2\. Everyone's family is there. I didn't mention it specifically, but I imagine Pietro Maximov is there as well  
> 3\. Peter and Harley are close enough to Tony's family that they call Rhodey 'Uncle Rhodey' just like Tony's blood and flesh daughter  
> 4 (and the one I referenced at the end) Tony is comfortable saying 'I love you' to Peter and does so often. That's the part he's going to fix, the part he can make real.  
> 5\. There is no more crime and violence in the world so none of Tony's friends have to continue to risk their lives trying to protect it. This is a direct reference to the Infinity War comics, where Tony wields the gauntlet and is tempted to rid the world of illness, crime, and poverty, but realizes that then it wouldn't be the world he knows and refrains.
> 
> The title is from "please please please let me get what I want" from The Smith's. Thank you for reading and please let me know what you thought!


End file.
